


Every Brilliant Star

by PurpleButtons0203



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, Crying, Crying During Sex, Cunnilingus, Devotion, Do not repost, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Service Top Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Worship, do not copy to another site, he just loves chloe a lot gang, no im not accepting constructive criticism at this time, they dont talk about it in the fic but it's consensual i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 22:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19858783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleButtons0203/pseuds/PurpleButtons0203
Summary: He might have been lightbringer, morningstar, but next to her he feels as a candle to a bonfire.Sometimes it hurts to look at her.





	Every Brilliant Star

He can't help but watch her.

She practically glows, lights up every room she enters with her presence. She shines like gold. He might have been the lightbringer, morningstar, but next to her he feels as a candle to a bonfire.

Sometimes it hurts to look at her.

She is never more beautiful, he thinks, than in the glow of the morning dawn, spread over his sheets like a star hanging in the black expanse of space. Her hair is mussed and her makeup gone and her skin covered with the marks of their love making and she is more ethereal than every corner of the Silver City. Every galaxy he has ever created pales in comparison. The shining walls of his fathers palace seem a crumbling ruin when compared to her visage.

When he sees her, at the precinct or his penthouse or even a crime scene, it's all he can do to keep buried the instincts he has repressed for so many millennia. As much as he loathes to even think about it, he was made as a creature of God. He is Lucifer now, would never want to be anyone else, but he remembers being Samael. Every glance or grin she sends his way makes him want to sing, to serve, to fall to his knees and _worship_. He wants to scream her name so loud and long that it drowns out the voices of heaven itself. It's all he can do, some days, to not shake apart when their hands brush or they lock eyes. He feels sometimes like his very essence is trying to climb inside her skin.

What bliss, to be surrounded by only her for the rest of his life.

There are days, and they come more frequently now, when he wishes he could peer inside her head like he does with others. He wants to strip her bare, unlock her every desire the way he does so easily with every other human. He wants to know everything about her, every dream, every wish, every drop of light that makes her _Chloe_. There is nothing he wants more than to give her everything she's ever wanted. There is nothing she doesn't deserve.

He rests on his side, as close as he dares, watching her sleeping in the light of the sunrise. She is warm and soft and radiant and a feast for his starving senses. Carefully, carefully, he slips down the bed, black silk pulling away from her in his wake and revealing more of her to his greedy eyes. He settles between her legs, a sinner supplicating himself before her altar. He presses soft, reverent kisses to her thighs and hips, basking in her warmth as he prepares to offer himself up to her, an eager sacrifice.

He guides her legs over his shoulders, grasping her hips with gentle hands, never bruising, never harsh. It's not his place to be anything but devoted. His breath ghosts over her sex and she sighs, shifting slightly, but does not wake. Eagerly, he presses forward, lips and tongue caressing her folds, reveling in her taste. Her body sings beneath his touches and he groans, humming his own pleasure back to her. Everything, all of him, is for her.

He continues his gentle ministrations as her hands slide into his hair, short nails scratching his scalp and tugging at his curls as she seeks more, even in her sleep. She moans, a short, breathy thing. It fills him with deep, visceral satisfaction, knowing that only he can please her like this. He is constantly aware of the men around her, who look at her with their harsh eyes and reach with grasping hands to take what most certainly doesn't belong to them. Too often he must bare his teeth and flash his eyes at her colleagues, witnesses, men who try to claim her for their own. He knows better than to think he could ever own her, but he won't delude himself into thinking there is any more worthy than he. They don't know her, worship her, like he does. They don't _love_ her like he does.

He knows the moment her orgasm peaks. She wakes as she arches against him, eyes fluttering open, and moans again, higher, longer. Her thighs grip his head between them and he continues to drink from her, watching with captivated eyes as her pleasure drips through her every vein like a river of honey. He finds himself struck dumb, prayers laying thick on his tongue, and they taste like her. It's blasphemy, he knows, sacrilege at its very highest, but he stopped being able to care long, long ago. How could he presume to seek the approval of the Silver City when a newer, kinder heaven has ensnared his every sense?

Finally she is spent, gasping his name, her voice thick with sleep and ecstasy. He retreats from his station, pressing one last kiss to her sex, and rises, beckoned forward by her gentle hands on his jaw. He presses his adoring mouth to every freckle he sees on the way up, desperate to prove to her his devotion. He sees her smile and knows she understands.

She leans up to kiss him, when he finally reaches her mouth, and it sears through him like a brand, burning hotter in his veins than hellfire, and much kinder besides. He is owned, claimed completely by the living sunlight in his bed, and he knows it with unwavering certainty although he knows she is mostly oblivious.

She pulls back and her forehead creases with a frown that makes him panic for a split second. She brushes a tear from his face with her thumb, concerned. He knows why he is crying, and it is not a negative thing. He makes no move to explain.

"Are you alright?" She asks, and the music of her voice is a balm to his aching and desperate soul. He smiles and feels another tear fall, burying his face in her shoulder even as he cradles her to his chest like a precious bit of glass. He fits her into the jagged edge of the hole in his chest and she settles in like she was made to be there. He'd forgotten what it was like, to feel unbroken even as he's shattered by her hands.

"Never better."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this fic, please drop a comment or a kudos on your way out <3!!


End file.
